The Man Out of Time
by Masquerading Muse
Summary: Steve Rogers is still stuck in the past and lost in the present. Nick Fury has plans to bring the Captain up to speed.But things are never simple with SHIELD or the Avengers, especially with new attacks and villains on the horizon. Steve/OC. Post-Avengers
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: An Unexpected Broadcast**

Jessica Hastings took the playing cards out of her pocket and slowly shuffled through them. Nick had told her that the red splattered all over the flat, smiling faces was paint, and not actually blood. The spots were too bright anyway—still glaring shades of crimson—to be blood, which would have been a dull, rusty maroon by now. But even if it was just paint on the cards, they still caused her heart to ache as if someone had just pummeled it with a hammer.

Uncle Phil loved these cards, she thought sadly. She had found the crowning piece of his collection, the vintage Captain America card, and given it to him on his birthday two years ago. He had been like a kid a Christmas, showing everyone around the table the old card with the slightly boxed edges, his blue eyes bright and beaming. It hadn't been hard for her to find those cards, not when she antiques were her daily business in addition to art repairs.

But Jessica hadn't found the Captain America playing card in the usual places like garage sales, auctions and estate sales. She had been complaining to Peggy about trying to find the stupid card for Phil, when with a coy smile on her face, Peggy had unlocked her desk drawer, rifled through a few folders, and handed her the card without any sort of explanation. Of course Jessica knew that Peggy had been alive during World War II—she had been a special agent fighting in the French Resistance. But Jessica was absolutely floored that Peggy had any sort of Captain America memorabilia. Peggy was just so _English, _so prim and proper.

The teakettle screeched behind her, making Jessica jump and nearly drop the cards onto the kitchen floor. Carefully, she shoved them back into her pocket, took the stainless steel kettle off the stove and poured the steaming water into two white mugs. The smell of good, Darjeeling wafted up with the steam, making Jessica sigh happily.

"Daydreaming again?" Peggy teased, shuffling into the room. "The kettle was howling for nearly two minutes."

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Jessica said, taking in Peggy's slightly shaking legs. "Go sit in the living room. I'll bring you the tea in there."

Peggy pursed her lips disapprovingly, but she still went and sat on the sofa. Summer sunlight streamed through the tall windows, making Peggy's hair shine platinum and her brown eyes a warmer shade of chocolaty brown. Jessica had to admit that even though Peggy was ninety-six years old, you could still see that she had been a very beautiful woman; it was the bone structure beneath the crinkled skin that hadn't changed. But despite her faded beauty, Peggy was still alone, except for Jessica, and things weren't getting easier for her.

"I picked up some muffins at the bakery," Jessica said, bringing in a tea tray filled with all of Peggy's favorites.

"Trying to fatten me up?"

"I don't think it's even possible for you to be fat," Jessica retorted, gently handing Peggy the warm cup and saucer.

"Ah," Peggy sighed after a small, careful sip. "You do know how to make good tea, even if you are an American."

"You're the one who taught me." Jessica took a seat next to Peggy on the couch, propping her feet up onto the low coffee table.

Smiling, over the rim of her mug, Jessica remembered how she had at first been horrified of Peggy. One of the kids on the block had said that Peggy was a witch who liked to eat little children. Why else would an old woman live alone in such a large house? And why were there always strange people coming and going at all hours of the day and night?

Then one fall afternoon Jessica had fallen off of her bike, right in front of the old Cape Cod house, and had twisted her ankle. It was either crawling home or wailing loudly enough for someone to hear her and help. Jessica, not a fan of discomfort or crawling with a scraped knee, had taken to crying on the curb, until Peggy had rushed out of the house.

"Oh stop crying," she had said kindly but firmly. "It's just a sprain; nothing's broken. Now just come inside and I'll get you all cleaned up."

Horrified and expecting to see the remains of past victims, Jessica had found a cozy but large house instead. Peggy had had a standard black poodle, just like Winston Churchill, Peggy had told her shooing the creature away. Instead of fingers or eyes in the cupboard, Peggy had all of the ordinary boxed food, including shortbread cookies and Neosporin.

And after that day, Jessica had found herself coming to the white fence of Peggy's house, until it had become second nature, until Jessica was actually at Peggy's house more than she was at home.

"So, do you think Cosmos is actually dead this time?" Jessica asked, referring to the soap opera that they watched every afternoon when Jessica wasn't working.

"Oh he's most certainly alive. He's too handsome to kill off, and they still haven't found out if he's Charity's father or not."

"But didn't he have an evil twin or something? He could take his place," Jessica mused, looking for the television remote. "And I thought that Richard was Charity's father."

"Please," Peggy said, rolling her eyes. "Alicia has been cheating on Richard since the start."

"Point taken," Jessica said, finally finding the remote beneath the pages of a half-read book on the coffee table. "When did you start reading French poems?" she asked, looking at the gilded spine.

Peggy blushed and took a sip of her tea. "I've always been rather fond of Hugo, you know. He didn't always write about hunchbacks and thieves. His poetry is actually rather moving, if a little sad."

Nodding but disinterested, Jessica sat the book back down on the coffee table and turned the TV on.

Instead of their usual badly lit soap, chaos exploded across the screen. Reporters were yelling and dashing down the streets of New York, as the ticker tape urgently tried to convey the emergency.

"Oh my God," Jessica whispered, turning up the volume.

A cop car was obliterated by a flying chariot of some sort, by something that didn't look to be human at all.

"I'm sure that Fury has something to do with this," Peggy whispered.

"Fury? What on earth would he have to do with those _things?" _Jessica asked, still horrified to see people running out of buildings. "He's supposed to protect people—not obliterate half of Manhattan."

Rubble exploded and hurtled to the ground. Dust hung heavy in the air, coating everything with ash. Over the voice of the reporter, the screams continued.

"All we know is that New York is under attack," the journalist said urgently. "We have heard from the police that a team known as the Avengers is helping to tackle this invasion, but we're not sure about the details. Civilians are still trapped in buildings. The safest place to go is the subway—and just get out of the city."

The camera panned away from her frantic face to several people who seemed to be fighting the aliens. There was a woman dressed in black, and a man dressed in a red, white and blue suit wielding a round shield of some sort.

"Is that—" Jessica began to ask.

Peggy's teacup shattered as it hit the coffee table, tea spilling all over the pages.

"Peggy?" Jessica asked worriedly, spinning away from the television.

Peggy was shaking. Her eyes were wide, and uneven. She didn't seem to be able to raise her arm. And suddenly the right side of her mouth began to droop, as her words became slurred and desperate.

"Oh God," Jessica moaned, horrified, as she reached for her cell phone. "Hello? Yes, I have a ninety-six year old woman having a stroke. We're at 200 Hawthorne Ave."

But the moment Jessica hung up, Peggy gasped.

"St-St-Steve," she managed to say, her hand searching for Jessica's.

"Steve?" Jessica asked, kneeling before her. "Who's Steve, Peggy? Peggy stay with me, the paramedics are coming. Peggy can you hear me?"

Peggy didn't answer. Gasping, as Jessica clutched her hands, her eyes rolled back and closed. Her breathing stopped suddenly.

"Peggy," Jessica shouted, over the noises blaring from the television. "Peggy!"

But no matter how hard Jessica shook Peggy's frail body or shouted her name, she didn't answer. Nor did she stir as the paramedics came into the house.

Just like Phil, she was gone in an instant.


	2. Chapter Two: The Assignment

**Chapter Two: The Assignment**

Another punching bag exploded, sending sand across the wood floor of the old gym.

Once, Steve Rogers had bitterly regretted that he couldn't get drunk. He had sat alone in the remains of a blown out bar in London, gulping down a bottle of vodka, only to find that it didn't offer him any comfort or oblivion. He had sat there clear-headed, the memories sharpening each time they replayed in his head.

Then, Peggy had carefully come into the bar, stepping over the debris with quiet footfalls. Her words had been comforting but forceful, and somehow reassuring in that dark world of shadows and hate. Peggy: the one person who always made the world a bit brighter, a little more wonderful for Steve. Sitting next to her on those wobbly chairs, Steve had accepted his fate as Captain America, as different from everyone else, and the fact that he wouldn't be stumbling back to his room inebriated. He decided that he could manage this new strange world with Peggy Carter at his side.

Steve picked up another punching bag and hung it from the rafters that were painted a peeling mint green.

Now, Steve was regretting ever waking up after a seventy-year sleep. He didn't just want to get drunk and forget. He wanted to die. He just wanted the world to end, right then and there, because he wasn't sure if he would be able to survive his memories anymore. The world had changed too much. Steve knew he wouldn't be able to become a part of it, no matter how hard Nicky Fury tried.

_Margaret Elizabeth Carter aged ninety-six died at her home in Connecticut on September 5, 2012. _The words from the newspaper obituary still haunted him. Steve had known that time had passed, but Peggy had always remained the same woman in his memories. Peggy Carter with beautiful brown, wavy hair that fell just at her slim shoulders, brilliant brown eyes, and a strong, reassuring voice. Seeing the black and white printed picture had shattered all of his dreams. Reality threatened to drown him.

Peggy had grown old without him.

Now, she no longer even existed. She would never be the same in all of Steve's fantasies of the life they might've had.

His fists pounded the punching bag, but still it didn't offer him any comfort. No matter how long or hard he worked out, he didn't tire. That was part of the problem: how long would he be stuck in this new, strange future without aging? Would he remain the same forever, constantly watching as his friends and family fell victim to time?

The sound of measured, steady footsteps, made Steve pause.

"The funeral's the day after tomorrow," an anonymous SHIELD agent announced, still standing in the doorway. "Director Fury said that you may attend, just as long as you let someone else accompany you."

"Tell Fury he can go to hell," Steve bit off, panting, and punching the bag so hard that it collided against the opposite wall.

The agent didn't come any closer, but stood stock-still in the doorway. "I'll let him know," he said flatly, before leaving Steve alone to try and beat his way out of his grief.

About a hundred stories above the basement gym, a young, dark-haired woman was echoing the words of Steve Rogers. Furious, she paced around the large office, her boots clacking against the dark marble floor. If looks could kill, Director Fury wouldn't have been sitting so calmly in his cushy leather chair, watching her over his steepled fingers.

"You can't make me do anything. I'm not one of your agents," Jessica fumed. "Haven't I sacrificed enough for SHIELD? First Phil and now Peggy?"

Fury sighed softly. "Jess, Peggy was sick. After her first stroke, we both knew that she didn't have much time left, and that's why I let you go under the radar and take care of her. Now, I need your help."

Squinting her silver eyes, Jessica looked at him closely. While Nick Fury was one of the most powerful men in the world—powerful enough to have his own button on the stainless steel elevators—she could tell that he was tired. His shoulders were slumped beneath the black suit, and his inky black eye was slightly red, and rimmed with dark half-moons. Pursed into a thin line, his mouth was showing the first signs of frown lines on the corners. It was slightly endearing, and somewhat frightening, to realize that Nick Fury was still a man.

"If Phil were alive, I would have given this assignment to him," Fury continued.

Jessica stormed up to his desk and slammed her hands down onto the thick glass. "Don't go trying to emotionally blackmail me. I'm not one of your puppets."

"Fine. But it's the truth even you know that. All I want is for you to look after one of our agents and help arrange the funerals. Certainly for an unemployed, recent college grad it'll pay better than any other job that you would find in this economy. I think you might event actually enjoy it."

Curious, Jessica arched an eyebrow and flopped down into a nearby chair. Fury took one of the manila folders form his desk and handed it to her.

"So, who do you want me to babysit?"

"You probably already know that Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, was frozen for over seventy years and survived. The docs say it was suspended animation or something to do with Erskine's formula. But while the Captain is in perfect physical condition, he has had some trouble adjusting to the present. We've had some progress, especially with him taking on a role in the Avengers Initiative, but I worry that Agent Carter's death will put a big dent in our plans."

Jessica's fingers stilled over a black and white photo an extremely skinny man squinting at the camera. She knew the story of Captain America; he was a legend. But apparently, she didn't know that full story.

"They were in love?" Jessica asked, shutting the folder.

Fury's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You mean you never knew? She never told you? I thought after you found all those cards for Phil—"

"Unlike you, I don't badger people until they give in. Peggy didn't like talking about the war, so I didn't ask her about it. And you know how my parents are. I doubt that Lisa and Karl are even their real names."

A crooked, wry smile slowly spread over Fury's features. "Well, then yes. Agent Carter and Steve were in love. If he hadn't been frozen for seventy years, they probably would've grown old together, raised a family. If he hadn't been frozen, I wouldn't be dealing with all of these problems or the paperwork."

Fury took another folder, this one marked with a small red flag, and handed it to Jessica. She opened it, and suddenly felt all of the breath rush out of her lungs, until she felt deflated, hollow.

"You know that we broke up," she murmured, looking down at the large, glossy photo.

A very handsome man smiled back at her, his fists held up in the air as a victory sign. Red, white and blue confetti landed on his black hair that was starting to gray at the temples. Even though his grin showed almost all of his sparkly white teeth, it still somehow didn't reach his bright, green eyes. No, his eyes were still calculating and conniving in this picture, just as they had been during every single dinner, campaign stop, and television interview.

"Even so, Blaise Thornton is not a fan of the Avengers Initiative and he's using all of his power up in the Senate to try and bring us under the full scrutiny of Congress. He wants answers about SHIELD, but more importantly he wants power. Power that I am not willing to give up."

Jessica quickly looked away from the photo and at the skyline outside. "You worry that he'll try and do something?"

This time her question was tinged with concern and the slightest note of fear.

"You of all people know how persuasive he can be—and how ruthless. We think that Captain America might be his next political target, after that show in New York. He's been hitting the news shows, and a bill is supposed to go to committee by the end of the week."

Jessica nodded gravely. "So you want me to kill two birds with one stone, is that it? Make sure Captain America doesn't decide to find eternal sleep and that Blaise doesn't kill him either?"

Fury nodded. "You'll have backup of course. But I think that what the Captain needs right now is some quiet time, outside of SHIELD. I'll have Agent Sparks stop by your house and explain all of the details."

Despite the dismissive tone in Fury's voice, Jessica didn't move to get up from her chair.

"Was he in a lot of pain?" she whispered after a moment, so quietly that she wasn't sure if Fury would hear her. The question had been burning on the tip of her tongue all afternoon, as Jessica had made her way into the still half-demolished city. She couldn't leave, not until she knew the answer.

Fury swallowed, and Jessica found that her own grief was mirrored in his dark eyes. "No. It was quick enough. He was a hero, really."

Jessica touched the corners of her eyes, catching the tears before they could trail down her slightly flushed cheeks. "Thanks for telling me the truth."

"You deserve it," Fury replied solemnly.

"I think I also deserve you to buy me lunch and actually explain all of this to me yourself. Certainly Director Fury has enough sway to get the afternoon off," Jessica said with a watery smile, breaking the somber, tense mood that had descended on the office.

"Alright," Fury said, sounding more like a begrudging father than militant director. "But just as long as you don't make the reservations for Shaft again. People wouldn't stop laughing at me for weeks."

"Deal," Jessica laughed.

Laughing, they walked out of the office and into the elevator.


	3. Chapter Three: The Stork Club

**Chapter Three: The Stork Club**

"Steve." A soft, quiet voice called him out of the darkness.

She stood in a small pool of yellow-orange light, her red lips tipped up in an inviting smile. The light brought out the highlights in her brown hair and made her eyes shine like melting copper. They met his with unexpected joy and the faintest hint of sadness. No other woman had ever looked at Steve like this, as if he only mattered because he was a man, not a celebrity or a superhero.

Unlike all their time in the trenches when she had been dressed in subdued browns and greens, tonight she wore a bright, red dress that matched her lipstick. The diamond pin resting along her collarbone and the matching earrings and bracelets glittered in the light, making her look even more unreal and impossibly beautiful.

"You're late," she chided, stepping towards him, her hand reaching for his.

"Peggy," Steve began, his voice embarrassingly hoarse and breathless. "Peggy, I'm so sorry—"

Stopping any further apologies, she pressed her finger to his lips. Suddenly, Steve couldn't think of anything else to say; he felt as if he had just been shocked by a lightning bolt.

"There's no time for sorries tonight, Captain," she continued, mock stern. "Tonight we're dancing."

Looking around, Steve found that they weren't alone. Other indistinct couples crowded in the long shadows and faint candlelight, their bodies dreamily relaxed as they waited for the next set. Peggy's smile changed, a teasing light entering into her eyes, as she slowly pulled him onto the dance floor.

"I still don't know how to dance," Steve explained in a whisper.

"Don't' worry. I've had them play something slow."

In response, there was the slow swell of the trumpet as it began the next song, followed by the soft, tattoo of a snare drum. Peggy pulled Steve closer, her hands skimming along his shoulder with the gentleness of a butterfly's wing. His heart started beating faster than the slow jazz tune, and suddenly he felt as if he had just stumbled into pit of cement.

"Relax," Peggy murmured, guiding him to sway with the music.

Sure enough, Steve found the slow, swirling rhythm, without stepping on Peggy's feet. The chemistry between them, always simmering just under the surface, was still there, floating in the air between them. Wordlessly it guided them through the dance, and into their own private world away from the other couples, away from worry.

"I missed you," Steve ventured to say.

"Do you know how many men I had to turn down? How many songs, I sat alone at the bar, waiting, hoping, bargaining with whatever God might listen? How long I waited, hoping for just an answer, to just know what had happened to you?"

Her questions weren't accusing or angry, but Steve still felt like he had just been punched in the gut.

"It wasn't my fault. There was no place to land the plane. I had no other choice."

Sighing, Peggy nodded. "I know, Steve. But the only problem was that I had so many choices, when I didn't want any of them. All I ever wanted was _you."_

A tear traced her high cheekbones and the curve of her cheek as it fell. Very gently, Steve wiped it away, unsure of what to say. Every day it was embarrassingly obvious how he hadn't changed, how he was still the same Captain Steve Rogers from 1949, but now he didn't know how to tell Peggy that he was still hers.

Nothing had changed. All of his feelings were still there, just waiting to be freed by words.

Bending down until the soft curls around her ear brushed against his cheek, Steve whispered, "I love you, Agent Peggy Carter. I always have, and I always will."

The words shocked Peggy. For the briefest moment, she looked up at Steve, her eyes wide and as round as dinner plates with surprise. Steve couldn't tell it was a pleasant surprise or not, as she seemed to fall against him, leaning her head on his broad shoulder.

"Oh Steve," she whispered in a muffled voice. "I love you too. Horribly so."

It happened just as naturally as breathing: kissing Peggy. Her mouth was as warm and soft as spring rain, as she pressed up onto her tiptoes, wrapping her hands around his neck. Eagerly, she returned his kiss.

Dear God in Heaven.

Steve's knees went weak and his mind went blank. He felt as if he were drunk, warmth spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers and his toes. He had never felt like this before. Never had he been so excruciatingly happy, all of his senses so saturated with Peggy, that it almost felt like agony.

"Peggy," he breathed against the corner of her lips.

Just as quickly as the kiss had began it ended. Jolted, as if someone had just doused her with cold water, Peggy recoiled. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows nearly touching her hair, but now that sense of wonder was gone, and it seemed regret was quickly moving in.

"We can't do this Steve," she gasped, breaking away. "We only have one dance, and that's it. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it happen like this."

"What?" Steve asked, reaching for her.

She stepped back, just enough to remain out of his reach.

"I was supposed to say goodbye to help you move on with your life, Steven. I wasn't supposed to make things worse, to make you want me even more. It's just I can never help myself when it comes to you—you make me so impulsive."

"Then stay," Steve replied, surprising himself at his daring. "Stay with me Peggy and don't leave."

"I can't Steve," she protested, her eyes shining too brightly, even in the darkness of the club. "I have to _go_."

Steve stepped closer again, but this time Peggy changed.

"Peggy?" He asked, all of his joy pooling in his stomach and turning into ice-cold dread.

She smiled at him sadly, continuing to step away from him and into the shadows. But no matter how slowly she moved, Steve could only stand there, watch as her features, all of her beauty, grew indistinct and faded into the darkness.

"You have to carry on Steve," her voice whispered, before she seemed to dissolve completely into the shadows.

The club seemed to start collapsing around him, the darkness creeping closer and closer. The music had stopped, the silence smothering Steve. He tried to shout. Tried to run. Tried to reach out his arm.

Steve could do nothing but stand there.

He had no choice.

No choice but to carry on without her.

Gasping, Steve awoke, clutching nothing but air. "Peggy," he panted, looking to see that his room was bathed in stark, early morning light. "Peggy," he said again to the empty room.

It had been a dream, nothing more, Steve reminded himself, getting out of bed with a groan.

But the residue of his joy and pain were real, as well as the black suit hanging up in his closet. They were reminders that he would still be seeing Peggy Carter and soon.

They had a date, and this time he wasn't going to miss it.

* * *

Author's Note: Happy Friday everyone! Sorry if this story seems a little depressing-I promise it won't be like this all the time! I just didn't want to write off Peggy and Steve's relationship, and somehow make it less important. Please, R&R! Thanks. -MM


	4. Chapter Four: The Peace Offering

**Chapter Four: The Peace Offering**

Jessica had never been to a funeral that needed a bouncer, so she was more than a little surprised when Fury posted her at the doors of the chapel with a long list of names.

"If their name's not on that list, they don't get in. I won't have agents shirking off or trying to get a free lunch just by sitting in a pew and wearing black. They always wear black for Christ's sake. It's a part of the damn dress code," he said tensely, scowling at a group of accountants walking past them.

"Is there something else I should know about?" Jessica asked.

He looked at her as if he were either going to snap at her or bark an order, but instead he shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just let me know if you need any help. Otherwise I'll be inside."

"I'll be fine," Jessica replied with a small, reassuring smile.

Nodding, Fury walked past her and into the small, dimly lit chapel in the basement of SHIELD Headquarters. His footsteps echoed as they struck the dark, marble floors, and then were silent as he sat down in one of the few stark black, wooden pews.

Jessica peeked into the dimly lit to count how many people had shown up early. Desperately, she tried to tamp down the butterflies darting about in her stomach, with a deep breath and a smile pinned to her face. But it was impossible to banish the feeling of loss and dread mixing with anticipation.

She had wanted to have the funeral at a small stone church in Connecticut, but the press surrounding the Avengers and the crazed fans had literally forced her to go underground. Now, instead of stepping past crooked, old headstones and the curving boughs of old oak trees, people had to pass through three levels of security.

Despite the harsh atmosphere, Jessica had done her best to make the place look like more than an empty tomb. She had harangued janitors and security guards, bringing in armfuls of fresh flowers down to the chapel. Delicate bouquets of white orchids tied together with gauzy white ribbon were attached to the ends of the pews. And the dais, where the two ebony coffins would rest during the ceremony, was covered with a blanket of white roses, lilies, and carnations.

Jessica hoped that people would find solace in the quietness of the chapel, and that somehow she did right in the way she honored Peggy and Phil's legacy.

Most of the guest filed wordlessly past her, and recognizing their faces, she ticked their names off the list. There were her parents, Agent Hill, Bruce, Clint and Natasha. But of course, some people always had to make an entrance.

"Oh she has yet another list. She must be one of Fury's minions," a man said loudly, striding up to her. "What are they going to do now, strip search us or something?"

"Do you need to be stripped searched Mr. Stark?" Jessica asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

For once he looked taken aback, almost surprised at Jessica's response. His brown eyes widened and his jaw dropped just a fraction of an inch.

"I can assure you that it won't be necessary," a strawberry blonde woman said, coming up to stand beside him. She gently touched Tony on the shoulder.

"Hello Ms. Potts. Sorry if there have been any inconveniences," Jessica replied smiling. "The services will start in a few moments."

Taking Tony's hand, Pepper walked with him into the chapel, leaving Jessica alone in the cavernous corridor. There was only one name left on her list, and it made her breath hitch and the butterflies absolutely run riot in her stomach.

Captain Steve Rogers.

He would have to show up, wouldn't he? She had overheard SHIELD agents taking bets as to how he would react and if he would come to the chapel at all, but she had tried to brush them away and bury her rising temper. Half the time they treated him like some sort of lab experiment, like some puppet to test and control, and it made her skin crawl.

Nervously she brushed away imaginary wrinkles from her silk black dress and pushed her long hair back over her shoulder. He had five minutes until the violins would start and the ceremony would commence, which didn't leave her much time to try and woo him.

Jessica needed to be a balm, a friend in this moment of darkness. Fury had given her a report of what Steve liked and disliked, how he approached people, and she had memorized it like an actress preparing for opening night.

"Ah, what a lovely surprise," a voice drawled from one of the smaller, darker corridors. A tall, dark haired man emerged from the shadows.

He was the one guest not on her list.

Rendered speechless by shock, Jessica watched with wide eyes as he sauntered towards her. As always he moved with the same predatory grace of a panther, and his crisp black and white suit didn't detract from his handsomeness. Green eyes flashing in the blue light of the hall, he eyed Jessica lazily, taking in every inch of skin from her head to her toes.

"Did you miss me Jess?" Blaise Thornton asked, reaching forward and pushing back a tendril of hair resting on her forehead.

His touch jolted Jessica back into reality. Like a match igniting, her anger sparked and bubbled, making her pale face flush.

"You're not supposed to be here Blaise. Get out. Or I'll call security."

"I've already made it through three levels of Class C security guards. Do you really think that they'll be able to stop me?" Blaise asked, his question a challenge.

"You know that most of the Avengers are inside. I'm sure they'll be able to take care of you," Jessica replied coolly.

Anger flashed briefly in his green eyes before they became impassive once more.

"You know that Peggy would've wanted me to be here. She would've wanted you to be comforted and safe, not standing alone in the middle of a cold, empty hallway," Blaise practically purred, inching closer. "Peggy would want us to be together, rather than fighting."

Jessica crossed her arms to protect herself. His words rang with the slightest bit of truth. Peggy had thought that Blaise was a charming, suave gentleman. But she hadn't known half the story, and everything that had happened behind closed doors.

"Peggy always had horrible taste in men. You weren't the first mistake, and I'm sure you won't be the last," she bit out angrily. "Get out Blaise. You're trying my patience."

Maddeningly, he smiled, and reached for something in his coat pocket. A single white rosebud, just on the brink of blooming appeared, its thorny stem cut brutally short. "The florist was out of olive branches," Blaise said, trying to hand it to her. "Just take it, and let it be a peace offering."

Jessica took it, and was tempted to squash it under her stiletto heels. But there was something beautiful about that rose, something delicate and tender that she couldn't destroy. Her anger lessened, as the sweet perfume of the rose wafted in the air, but there was something different. It didn't smell like a rose, but something else entirely, something she couldn't put her finger on.

"Let me know if you need a shoulder to cry on," Blaise said, smiling at her and turning to leave. "And make sure you don't go making Peggy's same mistake."

He said the words as if they were some kind of inside joke, and his tone made Jessica quickly look up from the snow-white rose. Suddenly, she could feel her face drain of all color, until she worried that she was the same color as the flower in her hand.

Jessica should have known that Blaise wasn't being sincere. This was all nothing more than a game to him. Now, she was going to have to pay the price for losing.

"Captain Rogers," Jessica said weakly, trying to smile at the man who was glaring daggers at her. He must have been standing there the entire time.

"Am I at the right place?" he asked flatly.

"Yes. The service is about to start."

He nodded, his blue eyes the as cold and flat as a frozen pond, and walked past her into the chapel.

As Jessica watched him slip into one of the pews in towards the back, she couldn't help but wish that she was the one in the coffins, rather than standing there in the doorway.

"Oh Peggy," Jessica whispered. "What am I to do?"

* * *

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Sorry that this update came so late. For some reason this chapter was giving me a hard time, and real life intruded on all of my writing time. Please leave a review-they really do help my morale and keep me writing. MM.


	5. Chapter 5: Fighting the Storm

**Chapter Five: Whisked Away**

"You are not a mistake," Jessica said to her reflection, as she leaned against the marble bathroom counter.

At this point, she didn't know if those words were meant for herself or Steve.

After the short funeral service almost all of the agents had quickly gone upstairs to one of the banquet halls where the wake was being held. Jessica had planned to go with them, until a cold hand on her bare shoulder made her stop in her tracks. Her mother was standing there, her cold, beautiful face frowning.

She was nearly a head shorter than Jessica, but her tall, stiletto heels allowed her to stand at eye level with her daughter. Her hair, the same dark, shining shade of gray as Jessica's, was pulled back into a severe bun that only accentuated her constant air of disapproval.

"You shouldn't be here," Lisa Hastings said, her blue eyes looking like sharp ice-chips. "This funeral is for people who have actually done something with their lives or who are serving SHIELD. You have failed on both counts, Jessica."

"Mom—" Jessica began to say, suddenly feeling like she was much smaller and younger.

"But instead you chose to waste away your time at art school. Did you really think that anything would come from that? Did you really think that you would be able to find a suitable career in this recession?" Her words, growing louder with each syllable, echoed in the small chapel. "You could have had everything, and yet you threw it all away because of a silly dream."

Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but Lisa simply shook her head and stormed out from the chapel, leaving Jessica alone.

Or so she had thought.

Turning to take one last look at the two coffins at the far end of the chapel, Jessica found a pair of blue eyes staring at her, the slightest hint of pity melting away the impassiveness of the rest of his handsome face.

Embarrassed, Jessica fled, running into the nearest bathroom where he wouldn't be able to chase her, and where at least she could lock the stall door against her mother.

Now Jessica scrutinized her reflection, and the fluorescent overhead light didn't do her any favors. There was the slight sheen of perspiration along her pale forehead and her upper lip, and her eyes, usually a glimmering shade of mercury, looked like dulled, tarnished silver. Putting a hand to her forehead, she couldn't tell if it was her shame that was making her burn or fever. But whether she was sick or not, it was time to face the music.

"Are you drunk or something?" Bruce Banner asked, catching her the moment she walked into the banquet hall.

"What?"

He pointed at her disheveled appearance: the curly hair clinging to the edge of her face, the piece of toilet paper caught on the heel of her shoe, and her now bloodshot silver eyes.

"You look like you just escaped a tavern brawl, Polly," Bruce said using her old nickname. He came closer, gesturing at her disarray. "I know that losing Peggy has taken its toll on you, but everything's going to be alright. Really."

Jessica shook her head, feeling as if the Devil's own henchmen had just decided to use her poor nerves as an anvil. "I'm fine. I just need to go find someone and make sure that everything's alright."

Bruce gave her one more assessing look over the top of his glasses. He knew that she wasn't well—not from the way she was breaking out in a sweat in the middle of an air-conditioned room. But he wasn't her father, nor had he seen her in over ten years. It wasn't his place to go telling her what to do. She wasn't a child anymore.

"We'll talk later, yeah?" Jessica asked, touching his arm.

He nodded, still a little shocked that she had dared to touch him.

Instantly her eyes skimmed along the skyline of different profiles and faces. It wasn't hard to find Captain America in the middle of a room filled with women in need of so-called comfort.

"Lord," Jessica murmured under her breath, making a beeline for him. "And I thought Phil was obsessed."

The gaggle of adoring women surrounding Steve weren't cowed by Jessica's cold glare. One of them pointed and asked if she was saving the piece of toilet paper for later, and another one of them nearly knocked her to the ground as she moved towards Steve. Jessica was desperate when the third elbow conveniently found its way in-between her ribs, and so she was forced to do the last thing Nick Fury would've had wished.

"Agent Rogers," she said in a voice that made a few of the female's heads turn. Steve spun around to find her. "Director Fury said that there's been a Code Alpha Eagle Omega and that you're needed outside. If you could follow me please."

"An Alpha Eagle Omega?" Steve asked, but he followed her nonetheless. "Why would Fury send you when he was in the same room? And why wouldn't any of the other Avengers know about it?"

"Because Alpha Eagle Omega is code for I need to talk to you in private," Jessica replied, leaning against a wall once they had entered a quiet corridor. "I'm sorry. You should know that Blaise Thornton makes me act like an idiot. But it still doesn't make it right that I go insulting your relationship with Peggy or implying that you're some kind of mistake. Because you're not. You're not a mistake, and it wasn't wrong that you loved her."

Steve looked at her for a second, his sandy brown eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. A woman had never apologized to him before, looking like she was about ready to cry if he said anything to rebuff her. It made his chest tight, and it only grew tighter when he realized that he could see down her dress from his vantage point. He politely shifted his gaze upwards. She was so small compared to him, at least a half-foot shorter, and so very delicate with her upturned face marked with worry.

"Everything's alright. I can assure you that I've heard worse, miss—" he said, pausing and realizing that he had no clue who she was.

"Jessica Hastings," she replied, giving her hand for him to shake.

"Gosh you're hot," he said, the moment his hand touched hers.

"Excuse me?" Jessica's silver eyes went wide with shock, and her eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

Steve blushed, and his ears felt as if they had just been seared by a blowtorch.

"Oh gosh. _No,_" Steve stammered. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that-well you're hand. It's really hot, like temperature wise. Are you sure that you're feeling alright?"

Taking a closer look, her eyes did seem rather glassy and Steve could have sworn that he heard a little wheezing when she exhaled.

"I'm fine. Really," Jessica sighed, taking her hand away. "I think it's just the shock and stress of things. I was close to both Phil and Peggy, and then just like that they were gone." She emphasized her words by snapping her fingers and smiling sadly. "I'm- I'm sure that you understand."

"Of course," Steve said his voice quiet and gentle. "Stark said that you lived with Peggy, that you were practically her granddaughter."

"She was happy. At least as happy as she could have been." Jessica said, understanding his unspoken question. "Peggy married a geneticist named Robert Hind, but they never had any children. So I guess Peggy adopted me in a way. We were both lonely. And it was a stroke that killed her. It was quick, and fairly painless I was told."

Jessica swayed on her feet, feeling as if she were standing on a bed of nails instead of her high heels. Steve's face was becoming more indistinct, as if someone had placed a blurry filter over her eyes. Jessica blinked, but that didn't seem to help. It only made her head pound even more.

"Jessica are you sure that you're alright?" Steve asked, taking her arm and steadying her.

She shook her head. A wave of nausea was overcoming her. "I think I'm going to be sick," she groaned, lurching away from Steve in the vain hope of finding a trashcan or bathroom.

"Let me help you," he said, his strong arm wrapping around her back.

"Steve—" Jessica began to say, trying to warn him.

But it was too late. Jessica threw up all over his shiny black shoes and the black floors of the hall.

Repulsed but worried, Steve caught her quickly sagging figure. She was burning in his hands, and her pulse was racing fast enough to make his own quicken. Her eyes fluttered closed, and with a loud sigh, she fainted.

He needed to find help and fast.

* * *

Happy Belated Fourth of July! Thank you all for the reviews, and sorry I couldn't get this up sooner. Please R&R. Thanks-MM


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